


Dawn Kiss

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 05:51:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19987174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Waking Noctis in the morning can still be a challenge.





	Dawn Kiss

Dawn had always carried its own challenges in the royal household. The Citadel never really slept as shifts of staff changed and moved and guards patrolled the halls and plazas and gardens. The lights stayed on throughout the dark nights— the glittering beacon of the Citadel and the gentle pulsing arch of the Wall had always comforted the Crown City through the night. The life had sprung up around it; the streets flooded with its own sort of nightlife, the people ventured out beneath the safety of the Wall. 

Ignis had missed the days that had once started with the prince bounding into his own rooms with a smile at the first sign of the sun. 

“Noct, it’s nearly seven.”

Now, they were lucky if Noctis remembered to set an alarm. 

The Citadel still shone through the night. The repairs on hold while the city was cleared around them. It had become more of a symbol, the gouged and scarred stone still standing despite the ruin around it. The dormant Crystal now encased in the glass of the old aquarium and on display for the people— no longer hidden away or suspended like a trophy. Noctis had allowed the concession for the Citadel to be declared livable again— structurally sound and open to the refugees who wished to return to the once-great city; but the damage remained for now. 

The throne room lay open and bare to the elements, for now. The dawn light streaming in through the gaping wound left by a mistake of the dynasty. 

It was beautiful, if Ignis believed Prompto’s poetic descriptions. 

He had been satisfied to relearn the once familiar halls of the royal apartments. 

“Call me when it’s eight.”

And the familiar habits of Noctis trying to avoid the dawn altogether. 

“And then you will be late,” Ignis knew the rooms by touch. He knew every little nook and cranny and salvaged piece of history. He knew the way the old gilded decorations set deep into the stone walls felt beneath his touch, and the sound of every step in the hall beyond the heavy doors. He knew the clicks of the lights as the wires and electrics were still repaired and salvaged and diverted as needed for the city, and the soft shuffle of Noctis in the bed, burrowing further. 

He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the heavy footstep in the hallway had been Gladio come to let them know the time. The sensation of warm light from one side of the room a confirmation in place of a clock. 

“Darling,” Ignis let his hands wander across Noctis’ shoulders, brushing the bandages still wrapping his chest and back as he got a sense of the position his King was in. As he sought out the wisp of beard that needed to be trimmed (if he was being honest, he couldn’t even picture his Noctis with a proper beard), and the soft curl of his hair. He felt the quirk of Noctis’ lips in his exploration, and allowed a moment to enjoy the feeling of the lazy smile beneath his fingertips; “I know you’re awake.”

“Because you keep poking me.”

“I can do much more than that.” He kissed the warm lips as he resettled into the bed. The heat of the sun and the blankets and the familiar body next to him a temptation set against the duty of the morning. “But I fear Gladio would interrupt in his impatience.”

He felt Noctis sigh and stretch and pull himself away from the comfort of kisses and warm blankets. He heard the soft command to stay where he was, even as Noctis’ light step headed toward the door. The creak of the wood was as familiar as the gruff rumble of Gladio on the other side. He strained to hear the order to come back in an hour or two, and the resulting grumble of annoyance. He frowned at the groan that followed what he assumed was one of Gladio’s friendly hands heavy on Noctis’ still sore shoulder, the wounds of the Armiger healing but still taking a toll. 

And then Noctis was back in his arms, guiding his hands to the waistband of the sleeping trousers Ignis had forgotten Noctis even had on (but was suddenly glad for when thinking of the sight that would have greeted Gladio otherwise). “All yours, Iggy.”

“I meant that you had an appointment in an hour, you know.” 

Though his hands moved as invited and Noctis’ smile became evident in his voice as he shifted to help.

“What’s the point of being King if I can’t reschedule?”


End file.
